


Wild Oats

by colonelmoran



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonelmoran/pseuds/colonelmoran
Summary: Growing up is hard. Especially if you're different. Especially in Ademre.





	1. Ivy On The Oak

Ademre is not now what it was when I was a girl. I suppose this should not be so surprising. Rivers shift their courses, trees grow and fall, and even the stones slowly bend themselves to follow the shape of the ever-blowing wind. But when I was a girl, I did not see these things.

 

            “Linan!”

            My head snapped up as though someone had jerked a cord tied to my chin. The voice that called me was that of Celean, my instructor. As I met her steely gaze, I unconsciously gestured _guilty apprehension_. I knew already from her tone that this was not the first time she had called me, and that this did not amuse her.

            “Pay attention to your surroundings.” _Stern reproof._

            I knew better than to protest that I had been, close attention in fact, just not to the part of my surroundings that included Celean and her other students. I had been watching the progress of a column of ants, as they marched through the waving grass. They had been marching in two directions, some rushing from their mound, wherever that was, and others returning, laden with crumbs of bread and goat cheese that were leftover from our midday meal. Every insect seemed to be running as fast as it was able, yet they never collided. Every time it looked as though they might, the ant without a burden of food would swerve slightly to the right or left so that in effect, three lanes of traffic were created.

            Traffic of any sort was still rare in Haert in those days, but I had been to visit my mother’s family in Feant, where foot travelers, horses, and even ox carts were common enough. I knew from watching them that people were not nearly so organized. They jostled each other or got in one another’s way all the time. How could it be that humans, with our minds that could make fire and poetry and study the Lethani, could not solve a problem that had been solved by ants?

            The question had absorbed me, as all good questions seemed to do, and so I had not heard Celean. I did not try to explain this to her. To speak so to one’s instructor was not of the Lethani.

            “I will, teacher,” I said instead, making the sign for _earnest apology._

“It is your turn to demonstrate,” Celean told me.

            I nodded and rose, walking forward into the mossy sparring circle with all the dignity I could summon. When I saw who was waiting for me there, I felt my belly lurch. I fought to keep my dismay off my face. Normally, that was the kind of thing I didn’t have to think about anymore, no more than I thought about controlling the bladder. But Kentha, daughter of Carceret of the First Stone, always brought out the worst in me.

            She stood in the loose-limbed pose that was the beginning of every Ketan, her face serene and her grey eyes perfectly blank. As soon as Celean turned her back however, Kentha gestured _pitying contempt_ , wide enough for all the other students—ten of my year mates—to see clearly. A few of them snickered with unsmiling faces. Celean behaved as though she did not notice.

            “Linan,” she said, “Please demonstrate Ivy On The Oak.”

            Again, I nodded. I dropped into a fighter’s stance and advanced on Kentha. Demonstrations were not sparring matches, but I was still cautious. Cautious, but not prepared, as it turned out.

            As I drew near, Kentha twitched her right arm, as if preparing to make Thrown Lightning. Automatically, I slid into Dance Backwards, putting myself out of reach. But Kentha did not follow through with the attack. Instead she simply stood there, still in her carefully neutral pose. Only her left hand stirred, making a tiny, precise _mockery._

            “I am sorry if I frightened you,” she said aloud. Again, there were a few snickers from the onlookers.

            I exhaled an angry breath, feeling my cheeks grow hot. I stepped forward again, and again Kentha’s arm twitched. I flinched, causing yet more snickering, but kept moving. I seized Kentha’s arms in the correct places, hooked my leg around hers, and spun her around until I felt her joints lock. I looked over to Celean, who had taken a seat upon a flat stone at the edge of the sparring circle. She gestured _conditional approval_ to me.

            “Kentha,” said Celean, “Please demonstrate how you would free yourself from such a hold.”

            I felt Kentha draw in an exultant breath. That was all the warning I had before she threw her strength against me. We swayed, like reeds in a high wind, but I did not stumble and Kentha did not break free. She tried again, with the same result. When she tried a third time, I tightened my grip a little. The grey fabric of her training uniform bunched under my fingers.

            With sudden viciousness, Kentha slammed her head back, aiming for my cheekbone. I leaned out of the way, but her long blond braid still lashed me across the face, causing me to yelp. Sensing weakness, Kentha strained against Ivy On The Oak with all her might. It did her no good. I could feel her body shaking with anger.

            “Kentha,” said Celean, “Why have you not broken Linan’s hold?”

“Because I cannot, teacher,” Kentha all but snarled.

            “Correct,” Celean agreed. “Why then did you try to do so?”

            “Because I know I am stronger than her.”

            Celean stood up from her rock, gesturing _formal disapproval_ as she did so. “Did I ever tell you that great strength is needed to escape Ivy On The Oak?”

            “No teacher.”

            “What did I tell you?”

            “That Ivy On The Oak and Sleeping Bear are holds where your own strength can be used against you.”

            “Then why did you struggle?” _Effected curiosity._

            “Because you instructed me to, teacher.”

            _Chastisement._ “I did not. Linan!”

            “Yes, teacher?”

            “Release Kentha and come here.”

            I did so. As soon as I was within arms reach, Celean became a blur. In all of Haert, there was no one with a Ketan like Celean’s. She seized my arms and whirled me into Ivy On The Oak, then flowed seamlessly into the next part of the hold, called Fallen Log. It wasn’t a part of the Ketan we had covered yet, but I’d seen my mother use it in her sparring matches. It ended with me face down in the carefully tended moss of the sparring circle, my limbs still held immobile.

            As I hit the earth, I instinctively yipped, “ _Veh!_ ”

            It is the Ademic word for surrender or submission, and it fits conveniently into a single exhaled breath.

            At once, Celean released me and helped me to my feet.

            “That,” she said firmly, her gaze sweeping over Kentha and then over all her students, “is how you free yourself from Ivy On The Oak.”

            Kentha gestured _polite disbelief_ at this. “We surrender?”

            Celean nodded. “You have your mother’s strength, Kentha. But to deny when you are fairly defeated is not of the Lethani.”

            “What if we are in a real fight?”

            Celean’s face did not flicker, but a tremor swept through her left hand, as if she had started to sign _discomfort_ before stopping herself. I knew that though Celean wasn’t much more than ten years my senior, she had already spent a tour of four years as a Cethan—a mercenary—among the barbarians, fighting their enemies to earn the coin that sustained Ademre. Now she languished back at Haert, helping her grandmother by teaching lessons, while she waited for word from one of the other schools of the Lethani. It was odd to think that my teacher, if all went according to her own plans, would soon be a student once more.

            “If you are in a real fight,” said Celean, “the enemy will not bother with holds like these unless she wants you alive.”

            She glanced up the sun and then back at us. “That’s enough for the present. You are all dismissed to your homes. Linan, a moment of your time please.”

            I stayed standing beside her while the other students collected their things and shuffled away towards Haert proper or to one of the outlying farmsteads. I watched her carefully from the corner of my eye. She was not a tall woman, scarcely taller than I was though I was only eleven, but she held herself very straight. Like all of the Adem, or nearly all, she had fair skin, grey eyes, and dark blonde hair, which she wore pulled up in a knot. This last, I envied her for, almost as much as for her superb Ketan.

            “You should not allow your opponent to startle you,” Celean told me, once the others were out of earshot.

            Wordlessly, I gestured _apology._

            Celean brushed this aside. “Your Ketan is quite good, Linan. In most things, you learn quickly and you have much cleverness in your hands.”

            “Thank you, teacher.”

            “But even when you have control here…” She took one of my hands in hers.

            “…and here…” She released my hand and tapped me on the forehead.

            “…you do not have control here.” She pressed her palm gently against my belly.

            I looked down, keeping my eyes on the floor of velvety green. I knew what she was talking about. The belly, to one of the Adem, is the source of the deepest emotions. Laughter and sobbing both come from the belly, and according to my mother, so did one’s understanding of the Lethani. My fear of Kentha was not a head fear or even a heart fear. It was a belly fear.

            “The belly is like a wild animal,” said Celean. “It does not think. It only feels, and it is folly to try to cage it up.”

            I nodded.

            “But you must learn to keep your belly on a leash Linan. Let it run, but guide its way. Make it course for you. _Lin_?”

            “ _Linsatva_ ,” I confirmed.

 

I walked home by the path that took me past the Latantha. I stopped to rest on a low stone wall some yards from the Sword Tree, admiring the way the sharp leaves cut the long orange rays of the setting sun into fantastic, flickering patterns.

            Grass rustled behind me. Of course, the grass rustles all the time in Ademre. Nothing that grows is ever still here. But I knew by now the difference between the noise of grass stirred by the wind and grass disturbed by a human.

            I turned quickly round, and then relaxed when I saw who it was.

            “Hello Rel,” I said, gesturing _mild exasperation_ with my hand, but favoring him with a small smile.

            Relem, son of Penthe of the Third Stone, returned my smile. Strictly speaking, such displays weren’t proper, given that we weren’t family. But Relem had been my best friend since as long as I could remember. He had seen me without my mask before.

            “Hello Linan,” he said. “What kept you?”

            He hopped up beside me on the wall, and I leaned my head on his shoulder. It was getting colder as the light faded and I was glad of the warmth of him.

            “Celean,” I told him.

            “She kept you all this time? Was she angry?”

            “No, not really. She just had some advice about emotional control.”

            “Anything useful?”

            “Maybe,” I said, and he nodded. We both knew we weren’t just thinking about how steely dispassion might help us focus better on our Ketan. Like me, Relem had grown up with more than his fair share of tormentors. If anything, he’d probably had it worse because his mother’s fame put him more in the public eye. My own mother was no mean Cethan herself, but she’d always been something of an oddity in Haert, coming as she did from Feant and the path of Joy. Having me had only deepened her oddness.

            As though sensing my melancholy, Relem put an arm around me and pulled me closer.

            “Cheer up,” he told me. “Mother said I could stay to supper with you and the Hammer tonight. That is, if you’ll let me.” _Entreaty._

            “As long as you don’t call her the Hammer to her face. Come on. It’s getting dark.”

            Relem reluctantly released me and stood up from the wall, stretching from head to toe like a cat. He was of a height with me, gangly in the way that all boys of eleven seem to be, with grey-green eyes and skin like white silk. Most importantly, he also had vividly red hair.

            That was what had first drawn me to him. Of all the children in Haert, he was the only one who looked like me. Even after this childish fascination had waned, our unusual appearance brought us together. I could count on Relem to support me against Kentha and her cronies, and even against the those adults in Haert who whispered or drew back from me when I passed them in the street, and he in turn could rely on me. It helped that we enjoyed many of the same things. Relem shared my love of stories and especially of poems, and we were both endlessly curious about the why of things.

            Our mothers, who had less patience than we had curiosity, had long ago taken to trading us back and forth for meals or games or short excursions, long enough for the childless woman to recover some inner peace. My mother—whose name could be variously translated as the Hammer, the Clay, or the Spinning Wheel—would not be surprised to see Relem arriving for supper.

            We set off in the direction of my house. It stood at the crest of a small rise, not far from the school’s bathhouse, with trees growing on its leeward side. It was as we were mounting the narrow flight of flint stairs leading up to the house that four shapes detached themselves from the long shadows of those trees and stalked purposefully towards us.

            “It must be my lucky night,” said a familiar voice, “Two barbarian cuckoos in a snare we set for one.”

            It was Kentha, naturally. She was flanked by her friend Mara and her cousin Laret, with Nentin, who was no one’s friend really but would happily join in any piece of petty malice that was going, bringing up the rear. Their pale, blank faces seemed to glow in the twilight. Their hair was golden and their eyes were cruel.

            “We’re not barbarians,” said Relem, gesturing _strong negation_ wide enough for all to see. My friend never knew when to keep his mouth shut.

            “You are if I say you are,” Kentha told him.

            “Kentha,” I tried. “Please. It’s late. Can’t we do this some other time?”

            “See, there you go again,” she told me, her left hand flickering. _Impatience. Amusement. Mockery. Anger._ “Acting as though what you want matters. As though you were really people, and not just a couple of barbarians.”

            She drew out the last word, flicking each syllable at us like a dart. Relem took a half step forward, which was all the provocation they needed.

            Laret pounced, making a snatch for Relem’s hair. Relem moved to block his hand, making Fan Water as Celean had taught us, but the grab had been a feint. Instead, the taller boy seized my friend’s arm and twisted it up behind his back in a half-baked version of Sleeping Bear. It didn’t matter that his form was off though, because he was stronger than Relem and besides, Nentin was piling on now.

            Mara darted at me. I kicked her in the knee and sidestepped into Maiden Dancing. Then Kentha hit me from my blind side and I went down hard, cracking my chin on the edge of a flint step. I felt a weight on my back that I could not dislodge, wriggle how I might, and then a burning pain all across my scalp. I kept my red hair very short, but such as there was, it was being cruelly twisted.

            “You tried to make a fool of me in front of Celean,” Kentha hissed. Her breath was hot in my ear. “Well that won’t happen again, understand? Because when we’re finished with you, you won’t be able to pick up a spoon, much less practice the Ketan.”

            I could have screamed then, I suppose. We weren’t very far from my house, all things considered. I could have screamed and my mother would have come and there weren’t four brats in all Ademre foolish enough to linger when Vashet the Hammer was on the warpath. But that is not the way of my people. Silence is precious to the Adem. It is the bread and meat of us. Pain is to be endured, not complained of. If I screamed, if I gave unchecked voice to my pain and terror, I would be proving Kentha right about me. I would be a barbarian and Kentha would have won. I was far too stubborn to let that happen.

            “Sing from a dead throat,” I growled at Kentha.

            The profanity seemed to momentarily stun her. I felt her body go rigid above me and for a long instant she said nothing. Then she snapped,

            “Mara, hand me that rock.”

            My right hand was dragged from under me and pinned on the flint step, fingers splayed wide like the legs of a goat carcass hung up for the blood to drain. I fought and fought, but only managed to twist my head around far enough to see Kentha draw back a fist clutching a smaller chunk of unforgiving flint, ready to bring it down like a hammer.

            A meaty thud and a startled yelp distracted her. I saw her head turn, but couldn’t see what she was looking at. Then she was struggling to her feet as fast as she could, preparing to run, but not fast enough. A heavy hand caught the back of her shirt and lifted her bodily from the ground.

            “Carceret’s daughter. I might have known.”

            The voice was deep and male and wonderfully familiar. I rolled over and sat up.

            “Uncle Tempi!”

            I was suddenly glad of the gathering darkness, because it obscured the relief I couldn’t keep off my face.

            “Hello Linan,” said Tempi, still regarding the struggling Kentha with disfavor. “What do you think? Should I bring this one up to have a little talk with Vashet?”

            At this, Kentha struggled harder.

            “Please, no,” I begged. “I just want to go home and eat supper in peace.”

            Tempi flicked his free hand in _indifference,_ and then made a picture-perfect Lover Out The Window. The throw sent Kentha sailing away down the hill. She rolled when she hit the ground, but it was not the controlled, deliberate movement that Celean had taught us to absorb the shock of impact. Tempi didn’t even glance back over his shoulder as the girl picked herself up and she and her cronies sprinted off into the night.

            “Are you hurt?” he asked me. _Mild concern._

“Not badly,” I prevaricated, wincing as I probed the messy cut on my chin. Blood dribbled sluggishly from it, staining the neckline of my tunic. “How’s Relem?”

            “I’ll live,” Relem said. Pain gave his neutral words a bitter edge. Tempi’s left hand flickered _worry_ , where Relem couldn’t see it. He walked over to where the boy sat and dropped down on one knee.

            Tempi was not an imposing man, leanly built and of adult, but unimpressive, height. Still, there was something undeniably solid about him. He was a little younger than my mother and was not, in truth, my uncle. Relem and I had begun calling him so years ago, because he went out of his way to be kind to the pair of us.

            Now, seeing that Relem cradled his right hand in his left, Tempi asked, “May I see?” while signing _formal request._

Reluctantly, Relem stuck out his hand. Tempi took it gently and turned it over. My own hand twitched in sympathetic pain at the sight. There were deep cuts in the outer edge of Relem’s hand and the knuckle of his smallest finger had been split open.

            “One of them bit you,” said Tempi. It was not a question. _Anger. Disgust._ “We should have this cleaned at once. Bites from men go sour even quicker than those from animals.”

            “It was Nentin, Uncle. I think he was trying to break my finger between his teeth.”

            I gestured _horror_ and _dismay_ at almost the same time as Tempi. “Things have gotten worse since I went away,” he said aloud. “Come.”

            He helped Relem to his feet and led us both up the hill towards my house. The walk seemed longer than I remembered and by the end I was feeling a little dizzy, probably from too much bleeding. My chin was starting to hurt more as well, as the fear left my blood. Tears welled up in my eyes and I let them fall. To hold back tears is not of the Lethani.


	2. Rare Enough To Treasure

My mother was in our tiny sitting room, cleaning and oiling her sword, when we entered. She rose to her feet at once, the soft polishing rag still grasped in one hand.

            “Linan, what…Tempi…oh, Chain and Ribbon, what happened?” She gestured _anger, distress,_ and _emphatic_ _reproach_ in rapid succession.

            I had no words. My throat already was thick with silent weeping. I simply went to her and she pulled me close, my head resting against her chest. She stroked my hair absently as she continued to not-quite glare at Tempi.

            “It was Carceret’s daughter,” he explained, guiding Relem further into the room with a gentle touch. _Entreaty for patience._ “Do you have any woundscald?”

            “Kentha? That little brat did this?”

            “With three friends,” Tempi agreed. “The woundscald? Relem’s hand is bitten.”

            Mother cursed and pushed me gently into a chair. She went to the tall cupboard and brought the box of medicines down from its high shelf. She pulled out a fat brown bottle and tossed it to Tempi, who caught it easily.

            “Hot water?” he asked.

            “Kettle’s on the stove.”

            In the end, Relem’s hand was cleaned three times: first with the woundscald, then more thoroughly with water, then with the potion again. I got a splash of the stuff as well. True to its name, it burned like stinging nettles but only for an instant. The smell, harsh and earthy, lasted longer. The concoction was basically strong liquor, fermented out of powerfully bitter herbs, but every healer had their own special variation on the recipe.

           Once cleaned, Relem’s cuts were salved and thoroughly bandaged. My chin was trickier. Careful probing showed the bone wasn’t broken, but the split in the tissue was deep.

            “He’d say it needed stitching,” commented Tempi. He said it quietly, for my mother’s ears alone, but I have very good hearing.

            “Don’t be foolish,” my mother replied. She took another bottle from the carved wooden box, one with a dropper built into its lid. I knew what it was and couldn’t stop myself from making a small gesture of _surprise._ This wasn’t a potion out of any village healer’s stillroom. This was mender gum. This was alchemy.

            Despite its name, the alchemical medicine was fully liquid, with only a faint pinkish tinge. That changed the instant it came into contact with human blood. Then it became a tough and flexible waterproof glue, quite strong enough to hold a wound shut until it healed. Stranger still, the glue would slowly be absorbed by the skin around it, obviating the need to remove it and actually speeding the healing process. It was a relatively new invention, from laboratories in barbarian lands far to the south and west, and it cost a small fortune. But a skilled Cethan like my mother would amass several small fortunes over her career.

            It took all of my self-control to keep from whimpering as my mother pinched the gash on my chin most of the way closed, then dripped a little of the mender gum into it. After another moment, she released me. I wiggled my face experimentally. There was a feeling of tightness, but nothing more. The wound even stung less, now that it wasn’t exposed to the air.

            “Better?” my mother asked.

            “Yes,” I said, signing _relief_. I also gave her a shaky smile. We had company over, but Relem and Tempi hardly seemed to count.

            “Now perhaps someone can tell me what’s been going on.”

            I told her everything that happened that afternoon, starting with Celean calling on me during my lessons. It didn’t take very long, even with Tempi and Relem contributing helpful details.

            “I see,” she said when I was finished. She wasn’t bothering to keep the anger from her face. “This is too much. I must talk with Carceret.”

            She walked over to the sitting room table and retrieved her sword. The blade gleamed, grey and menacing, in the red light of our sympathy lamp. Tempi moved to put himself between her and the door.

            “Vashet, this is not of the Lethani.” _Entreaty._

            “Get out of my way Tempi.” _Irritation._

            “No.”

“Do you think you can stop me?” _Incredulity._

            “No. I cannot.” _Conceding._ “You are a woman and of the second stone. I do not doubt that you could kill me if you wished.”

            “I would not need to kill you.” _Scorn._

 _Dismissal._ “Break me then. Leave me senseless.”

            “Or force you to yield.”

            “In this, I will not yield.” _Apology._

“Why? Why is this so important to you?”

            “The Lethani is always important.”

            “I don’t have time for a debate about the Lethani right now, Tempi. Move from my path.” _Finality. Dire warning._

            “No.” _Absolute resolve._

For a long moment, no one in the house so much as blinked. Then with a muffled snarl, mother flung her sword back onto the table, gesturing _exasperation_ and _fury_ with sweeping motions of her left hand. “You really are as dense as they say, Tempi. What are you going to do? Stand in front of my door all night?”

            “Are you still planning to stab Carceret?”

            “Stab her? I said I wanted to talk to her.”

            Tempi gestured _deep skepticism,_ but said nothing.

            “She’s already proven that she won’t listen to reason. I’ve talked to her. Penthe’s talked to her. Celean and her mother have both talked to her. But she does nothing. And every day her brat gets worse and worse. If she’s not stopped…”

            Here she looked over at me and her pale face went paler still. Then she looked away.

            “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, Tempi. You just haven’t been here to see it.”

            “I see enough,” said Tempi. “What of Shehyn?”

            “What?” _Discomfort._

            “Before I took the last job, I told the two of you that Carceret would only listen to Shehyn. Have you, or Penthe, spoken to her?”

            “No.”

            “Ah.”

            “She would not wish to hear of this.” _Shame._

            “I see.” _Regret._

            Silence filled the little house then, deeper and more complex than before. Personally, I was feeling more than a little gob-smacked. I’d never seen Tempi stand up to my mother like this before, even about so small a matter as taking Relem and I for an afternoon walk. He normally bowed before her like a reed before the wind. That he and my mother and Penthe spoke about us behind our backs was also a revelation. I felt like someone glancing at a stanza halfway down a page of poetry, without any idea of what has come before.

            As for Shehyn, I knew she was the head of the school here in Haert, but she was very old now and I seldom saw her. Celean was her granddaughter and she, together with her mother, handled most of the day-to-day affairs of the school. I tried to remember if Shehyn had ever spoken two words to me together. I did not think so. She wasn’t one of the ones who whispered or shuddered, but all my memories of her were of an old woman who held herself stiffly aloof.

            I glanced over at Relem, and I could see at once from the crook of his uninjured hand that his mind was also racing. Somewhere in all this, behind the silence and beneath the shouting, lurked the answer to the question we held dearest of all: what made us different?

            At that moment, my belly grumbled loudly. Heavy questions would have to wait until more immediate ones were answered.

            “Mother, may we have supper now?” I asked.

 

Tempi ate with us. The roast hare was made to stretch to four, with some help from a plate of bread and cheese. Despite the lingering tension in the air, I enjoyed the meal. It was not often we had guests. Other houses in Haert had people in and out of them all the time, usually members of the homeowner’s extended family. Relem, for example, had cousins and uncles coming over all the time. Not all of his family treated him warmly, but they were at least polite and made a show of being friendly when Penthe was around.

            Here in the house on the hill, however, I had only my mother, at least since my great grandmother Magwyn died. All our other relatives lived in Feant. Having Tempi over, even if he wasn’t my real uncle, made me feel more normal, which was a thing rare enough to be worth treasuring.

            Hot food in our bellies also did much to make everyone feel less on edge. Mother and Tempi eventually agreed to talk with Penthe again before making any definite move regarding Kentha and her mother, and further agreed that Nentin and his parents had much to answer for as well. Biting is no part of the Ketan and I can imagine very few cases where it is of the Lethani.

            Then Relem and I asked Tempi about his latest assignment. Though he had no stone ranking at all, Tempi spent more time working in barbarian lands than either Penthe or my mother these days. This most recent time he had been recruited as a bodyguard to a Modegan royal surveyor, sent into the fragment of the Small Kingdoms between Modeg and Vintas to settle a border dispute between two petty kings. Once supper was done and a space on the table could be cleared, Mother brought out a map so we could see exactly where those barbaric countries were.

            “And how have your studies with Celean been?” Tempi asked, as we continued to pore over the map. Relem was tracing the length of the Great Stone Road with one finger, running it gently over the parchment.

            “Well enough, until today,” I explained.

            “Is she a good teacher?”

            “Yes.” _Emphasis._

“And she treats you fairly?”

            “Always,” I said, and Relem nodded in agreement. Besides Tempi, Celean might be the adult we liked best. Well, besides our mothers as well.

            “That is good.”

            “Linan,” my mother interrupted. “Would you and Relem start the washing up now, please?” _Firm order._

“Of course,” said Relem at once, hopping to his feet and gesturing _eagerness to please._ I followed him somewhat more reluctantly.

 

The kettle was almost empty, after washing out all our cuts and gashes, so I headed off to the well. Relem accompanied me, for which I was glad. It was full dark outside now, with so many clouds scudding across the black velvet sky that the starlight was patchy and dim.

            “Has your mother ever talked to you about Shehyn much?” asked Relem, as the bucket bounced and clanked its way down to the waiting water.

            “No. Has yours?”

            “Only a little.”

            “What did she say?”

            “That they used to be closer.”

            “Closer than what?”

            _Uncertainty._ “Than they are now, I guess. I think Shehyn might have wanted my mother to be her…I don’t know…like her protégé or something.”

            My hands were busy spinning the handle that drew up the bucket, so I allowed myself to frown dubiously. Penthe was a peerless fighter, a woman of the third stone and a legend in the sparring ring. But she didn’t have the kind of respect amongst the people of Haert that I thought a woman would need to lead the entire school, as Shehyn nominally did. But perhaps she once had.

            “What changed?” I asked, without thinking.

            Relem did not answer, but he gestured _deep embarrassment_.

            “Oh,” I said softly. Relem thought whatever had happened between Penthe and Shehyn was his fault. I rested the full bucket on the stone lip of the well and gestured _sincere apology._ Relem nodded and let me take his hand in mine, pulling him into a quick hug. His cheek was warm against mine.

            We were quiet as we walked back to the house, and this was probably why we heard Tempi and my mother talking before they heard us. Their voices drifted along the back hall and out through the unlatched door.

            “…if you hadn’t come by when you did,” my mother was saying. “That was a piece of luck.”

            “Ah, well…” Tempi sounded faintly uncomfortable. “Actually, it wasn’t entirely luck. I was coming to see you about something.”

            Eavesdropping is not of the Lethani, or so I am told, but Relem and I drew to a halt all the same, our ears straining.

            “And what was that?” Now mother sounded suspicious, though perhaps someone who did not know her so well would not have noticed.

            “On my last full day of travelling, I met two men on the road. They were coming here, to Haert, to try and get supplies before setting out south across the mountains. ”

            “And? Cethan of other schools are welcome here, as long as they behave themselves.”

            “These men are not Cethan. And they are gravely ill, Vashet.”

            “Then you should have brought them to the apothecary.”

            “That would have been unwise.”

            “You think they would spread contagion?”

            “Not exactly.”

            There was a pause.

            “Tempi,” my mother said, her voice like sword steel, “What are these two sick with?”

            “It would be best if you come see for yourself.”

            There was a pause.

            “Where are they?” my mother asked at length.

            “At my house.”

            “Oh Tempi.”

            “Someone needed to help them.”

            “But why you? Why must you always be the one to bring back strays and ruin?”

            “I’m sorry, Vashet. I wouldn’t have come to you had I any other choice. But the apothecary…”

            “…is one of Carceret’s people, I know.” There was sudden loud bang, as if my mother had just slammed her hand down on the table. It made me start, almost dropping the bucket of water I still held.

            “Rhinta take them all,” my mother swore. “You’re absolutely sure it’s not some ordinary pox?”

            “Yes.”

            “But you said they weren’t Cethan. How could…”

            “One of them shared favors with a Cethan of the path of Restraint every time she returned home. They think that was how…”

            “Yes, yes. I get the idea.”

            Another pause.

            “I have some medicines here,” my mother said at last. “But they are mostly for injuries or the illnesses of children.”

            “Thank you Vashet.”

            Mother only grunted. “I will come visit you once Linan is in bed. Where are those two anyway?”

            Relem and I waited for a count of ten before bursting loudly through the back door.

            “Oh thank goodness,” I said, setting down the bucket and hurrying over to the stove, “It’s getting really cold out there!”

            “Careful!” Relem chided me. “You almost spilled the water again.”

            “Why do you care? It’s not like you did any of the work to fetch it.”

            “Right. And I want to keep it that way.”

            I laughed. Relem filled the heavy kettle, moving slowly because of his bandaged hand, while I held my fingers over the dully-glowing metal, both of us effecting to ignore the slightly suspicious looks my mother and Tempi were shooting us from the living room. I was not unduly worried, even though whatever we had overheard was clearly deadly serious, for Relem and I had played this game before. As we washed up, we cracked jokes and picked little arguments, laughed and pushed each other, even flashed small smiles and frowns. In Ademre, it is widely thought that the best way to hide your true feelings is to have a face like a marble wall. But my friend and I already knew better, that a face may turn in one breeze while the heart bends before another.


	3. Wreckage

I tried to stay up that night, to hear when my mother left the house, but to no avail. Fear and pain and strangeness had wrung me out, body and mind. Exhaustion claimed me within minutes of my face touching the pillow. In the morning, she was already back, calling my name while she built up the fire in the stove.

            “Linan!”

            I mumbled something and rolled back over. “Linan, the goats…”

            The goats were part of my round of morning chores. Fortunately, we didn’t have many. We still lived off the coin mother earned as a Cethan and a trainer of Cethan, so we only kept enough of a herd to supply us with a little milk for the kitchen. By the time they were seen to, the sun was properly up and a bowl of hot porridge was waiting for me back inside. I stirred milk and honey and cinnamon—another treasure that came to us from beyond the Stormwall Mountains—into mine and ate it in silence. Beside me, my mother did likewise.

            “Mother?” I asked at length.

            “Yes Linan?”

            “Will Kentha and Nentin and the others be at training today?”

            “I expect so.”

            “Oh,” I said quietly, signing a small _apprehension._

            Mother reached over and gave my upper arm a squeeze. When I set down my spoon, she pulled me into a one armed hug and planted a gruff kiss on my brow.

            “Are you wondering what to do when you see her?”

            I nodded.

            “Don’t challenge her, not unless you’re sure you’re ready and certainly not during your lessons. But don’t show her any weakness either. Bullies are like wolves that way. They want their prey to be weak or old…”

            “…or sick,” I said quietly, remembering Tempi’s reluctance to take the sick strangers to Carcert’s friend, the apothecary.

            “Or sick,” my mother agreed. “Now you aren’t any of those things, daughter mine, but that doesn’t mean Kentha’s bright enough to see it that way. To her, you look different.”

            “I am different.”

            My mother ran her fingers through my flame red hair, smoothing away a few sleep tangles that the comb had missed. “Appearances can be deceiving. You are Adem and the daughter of an Adem, just like Kentha. Only you’re cleverer than Kentha and not as much of a little psychopath.”

            That made me laugh. Mother continued to stroke my hair. Odd, how hands with so many sword calluses could feel so soft.

            “It’s your job to prove to her, to all of them, that what makes you different does not make you weak. Only then will they leave you in peace.”

            “Mother,” I asked, “What does make me different, really?”

            Her hand froze, fingers still resting lightly against my scalp. I looked up, and saw that she was biting her lip in thought.

            “ _Vaevin_ ,” she said finally. “Anger. The anger that made you was not like the anger that made Kentha.”   

            I frowned. I knew about Vaevin, usually translated into Aturan as ‘anger’. It was the unseen force that powered all living things, made them to grow and to act and to desire.

            “Isn’t all anger the same?” I asked.

            My mother shook her head. “No. I thought so once. But no, it is not all the same.”

 

Once my remaining chores were completed, I dressed in my training greys and walked over to Penthe’s house, which was nearer to the center of Haert, so that Relem and I could walk to our lessons together. Tempi had walked Relem home the night before, ostensibly to help explain matters to Penthe, but also—I suspected—to make sure there were no more ambushes. Full of the same watchful spirit, I kept alert as I walked, peering into the shadows cast by every boulder or gnarled tree. Nothing untoward happened however, and I found Relem already waiting for me on his front steps.

            At the sight of me, his face lit up. It was a subtle kind of change, nothing that would cause comment in the market square, but for me it was unmistakable. It was like the difference between an empty house and one where the people are merely sleeping. Nothing looks different, but as soon as you step inside, you know.

            “Hello Linan,” he said, springing to his feet.

            “Hello Rel.” _Gladness._ “How’s your hand?”

            _Indifference._ “Hurts. How’s your chin?”

            “Hurts,” I admitted.

            We walked together down the stony lane that led to the training yards of the school. We hadn’t gone very far before Relem’s front door popped open and his mother leaned out. Penthe was a slender woman, younger than my mother and almost a foot shorter, but hers was a scimitar’s slenderness. She held a woolen robe closed over her chest, her hair hanging down past her waist in golden tangles.

            “Relem!” she called.

            My friend, who had been effecting to ignore the sound of his door opening, turned. “What is it?”

            “Be careful!”

            “I will, Mother.”

            “And tell Celean if it looks like any trouble is starting.”

            “Yes, Mother.”

            “And remember I love you!” She matched her gesture to the words, pressing her left hand to her lips and then flicking her fingers towards Relem as though tossing something to him.

            Relem ducked his head in embarrassment, which only made Penthe laugh, and the two of us continued on our way.

            “So,” said Relem, the tips of his ears still very red, “Do you think we should stop by Uncle Tempi’s house after lessons and surprise him?”

            “Because we think it would be a nice surprise or because you want to know more about these sick strangers?”

            Relem glanced around furtively, and then rolled his eyes at me. The naked exasperation on his face startled a giggle from me.

            “Shush,” he warned me, giving me a light punch on the arm. “Do you want all Haert to know Uncle Tempi’s business?”

            “Oh no,” I replied, gesturing _sarcasm._ “In fact, I wouldn’t mind if this whole affair stayed a secret forever and we never even learned what it was all about.”

            “As if! I know you’re just as curious as me.”           

            I could not deny the charge. Still, I signed _reluctance_ and I said, “Uncle Tempi wouldn’t be happy with us.”

            “We wouldn’t have to tell him we were eavesdropping.”

            “He still wouldn’t be happy.”

            “Yeah, but we wouldn’t get in trouble.”

            _Doubtful._ “And what if these men have something catching?”

            “Then we’ll already have caught it from Uncle Tempi, I expect. A quick look can’t make things any worse.”

            As it turned it out, he was wrong.

 

Our lessons with Celean were divided between studying the Ketan and studying the Lethani. We read from the Nine and Ninety-Tales and Celean read to us from the works of other, later thinkers who had tried to clarify what the Tales really said about the Lethani. Often these writings would disagree with each other and Celean liked to ask about these disagreements, making sure we understood how and why the thinkers’ reasoning differed.

            When our eyes began to glaze over, Celean would order us to our feet and we would practice our Ketan, adding layers of difficulty and complexity each time. When our limbs began to tremble, it was time for a quick drink of cold water, and then back to our seats and the Nine and Ninety-Tales. There was an hour-long break at midday for food and conversation.

            This, Relem and I judged, was the danger point. We kept a watchful eye on Kentha and her cohort, but they made no overtly hostile move. Nentin made snapping motions at Relem when he was sure Celean wasn’t looking and licked his lips meaningfully. The sight made me shudder. Kentha, noticing what Nentin was doing for the first time, reached over and wordlessly cuffed him across the ear. After that, he stopped.

            For her part Kentha, seemed to pay us little attention. She was moving a little stiffly, as if she was still sore after getting thrown down the hill by Tempi, and the most I saw her do all day was gesture _profound_ _distaste_ when the swirl of a sparring session brought me too close to where she and Mara sat for her liking.

            I was tempted to let my guard down, but the dull pain of my chin—even blunted by willowfine—wouldn’t let me forget what was at stake. I did my best to follow my mother’s advice. I stood tall and tried to walk with a confidence I did not feel. I was more aggressive than usual when we practiced the Ketan, but Celean only nodded and signed _approval_ when she noticed.

            “Looks like you’re getting over your tendency to hesitate,” she told me. “Keep it up.”

            A strange mixture of pride and guilt flowed through my belly. I knew I wasn’t really improving, not in my bones. I was pretending, like a cat fluffing up its fur to appear more dangerous than it was. Still, if my pretense was having real results, maybe that was enough.

           

At the end of the day, Relem sidled up to me as I was adjusting the strap to the satchel I used for carrying my lunch, my writing paper, and my copy of the Nine and Ninety Tales.

            “Are you ready to go see Uncle Tempi?”

            “I never agreed to this plan,” I reminded him.

            “Oh come on. I’m going to go, and if you don’t come with me that means we’ll both end up walking home alone. What if Kentha’s waiting for us again?”

            “Then she’ll probably be able to thrash both of us soundly, just like last time.”

            “Well then, all the more reason not to head straight home by the route she’ll be expecting. And if we _have_ to find an alternate route, it might as well be the one that goes right by the house of our dear friend and rescuer Tempi.”

            “You’re incorrigible,” I told him, signing _affection_ and _gentle amusement_ with my left hand. “Very well. You’ll only get into twice as much trouble if I let you go alone.”

           

Tempi’s house was smaller than either of ours, reflecting his low rank within the pecking order of the school. Still, it was snug enough, made of tightly fitted stones, and I knew from previous visits that the interior was furnished more than comfortably. It was right on the western edge of Haert, not quite apart from the town proper, and yet not quite a part of it either.

            Relem was in the lead, this folly being his idea, and now he scampered up the steps of the stone front porch and glanced furtively about. I followed more sedately, though in my chest, my heart too was singing with nervous curiosity.

            We did not knock, but let ourselves in as quietly as we knew how. I shut the door behind us, feeling the latch click rather than hearing it, and then turned back to the single large room that was for living and dining both. I almost ran into Relem from behind. He stood frozen, only two steps into the house, as though his blood had turned to ice. An instant later, my ears told me the reason why.

            Someone in that house was singing.

            It was a man’s voice, low and soft, and it came from behind a wooden screen that hid nearly a quarter of the room from view.

           

            _Down by the still water,_

_Her green branches trailing,_

_The fair Willow Maid sat,_

_All weeping and wailing._

            The sound sent shivers racing over my skin and up and down my spine. I had never heard anyone but my mother sing before, and even she hadn’t sung to me since my last birthday.

            If you are not Adem, the significance of this may be hard to understand. To show emotion with one’s face or in one’s speech is seen as rude in Ademre, even barbaric. But the great wealth of emotion that lives in music, and in song most of all, is something else again. To show someone your inner feelings so nakedly is an act of intimacy beyond all others. I knew it was wrong, deeply wrong, for me to be overhearing a song meant for someone else. Still, I was transfixed, unable to move or even speak.

 

            _Up past the high snowline,_

_The Spruce Lad did hear her._

_So he plucked up his roots,_

_That he might draw near her._

            Relem glanced over at me, his eyes very wide. I don’t know what he saw in my face in that moment, but he took an involuntary step back. His elbow bumped against a walking staff that leaned near the door and it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. At once, the singing ceased.

            “Who’s there?” called a voice. It was the same voice than had been singing, but now it was rough with fear. “Tempi? Is that you?”

            I still could not find my voice, but my hand flashed out and seized Relem’s wrist, lest he should try to pull away again. Something behind the wooden screen creaked and there was the sound of shuffling footsteps. Then a man peered cautiously out into the room.

            He did not look well. Once, I imagine, he must have been a large and vigorous man. He would have had the bulky muscles of a woodcutter or a quarryman, rather than the lean build of a Cethan, but still his anger would have glittered through him like firelight through a rough gem.

            What stood before us now was the wreckage of that vital man. His skin had a greyish cast to it and it hung loosely on limbs that were accustomed to more suet and sinew. His blond hair looked brittle to the touch, save where it was damp with sweat. Worst of all were the angry red sores that bloomed at the corners of his mouth.

            “Who are you?” the man asked, his left hand twitching in _agitation._ His grey eyes seemed to stab at me like arrow points.

            “We’re looking for Tempi,” Relem said quickly.

            I gestured _profound apology_ and _deep regret._ “We did not mean to interrupt or…ah, overhear.”

            Beside me Relem frantically signed _agreement_ and _heartfelt apology._ “Tempi, he’s our uncle, well sort of, and this is his house and, we didn’t know, I mean, he said he had guests but I didn’t know that, I mean, singing…”

            I kicked him lightly on the leg to make him shut up. The ashen-faced man seemed to relax a little. Then from behind him, a new voice—hoarse and reedy—spoke.

            “Haltet? What’s going on?”

            “It’s nothing, love. Just some village kids. Try to sleep now.”

            Haltet motioned for us to keep our voices low and crossed to one of the chairs clustered around the stove. He pointed meaningfully at the empty chairs beside him.

            “Please, sit.” _Reassurance. Nonaggression._

Cautiously, we sat.

            “What are your names?” he asked. “I’m Haltet and that’s Shevam behind the screen there.”

            His words were lightly accented, with the rising vowels and throaty consonants I now associate with the Adem who live up near the northern coast.

            “I’m Linan,” I told him. “And this is Relem.”

            “And Tempi is your uncle?” He sounded only slightly skeptical.

            “Not really. It’s just what we call him.”

            “Are you adopted then?”

            “What?”

            The question struck me as absurd. “Why would we be adopted?”

            “Because of our hair,” said Relem quietly. “He thinks we look like barbarians.”

            “Oh.” I kept the hurt from my face without effort.

            Haltet gestured _apology._ “It’s none of my business, I’m sure. Really, I just wanted to know how much Tempi had told you.”

            “Very little,” I told him, and Relem gestured _understatement._ “Are you hiding from someone?”

            Haltet drummed his fingers against one knee as he weighed the question. “Not exactly. And I’m not sure how much I should tell you kids.”

            “Please. We just want to understand.”

            “Yeah,” Relem agreed. “Maybe we could even help.”

            Haltet gestured _mild amusement._ “I doubt it. Shevam and I are dying, you see.”

            I felt a horrible lurch in the pit of my stomach, belly fear, deep and dark. “Dying?”

            “Dying,” Haltet confirmed. _Resignation._ “We were going to try to cross the mountains, to see if any of the physickers in barbarian lands knew of a cure, but I don’t think Shevam has the strength anymore. And I haven’t the heart…”

            A sob interrupted his words with out warning. He pressed his fist to his mouth, staring straight ahead and breathing heavily. Silent tears coursed over his grey cheeks and I could feel my own eyes becoming hot.

            “I haven’t the heart to leave him,” Haltet finished in a gasp.

            I wanted to reach over and take his hand, but I hesitated. “Is it catching?”

            “I’m sorry?”

            “What you’re sick with, is it catching?”

            He shook his head. “Not by breathing. Not by touching, even. Only by blood and sex.”

            A shudder ran through me. At eleven years old, my knowledge of sex was entirely theoretical. Still, I knew what the men who occasionally stayed the night with my mother came for, and more than once I'd nearly stepped on necking couples while walking by the river. The idea of sex did not embarrass me, anymore than it embarrassed most Adem. It wasn’t something one did in the middle of the street, just as one wouldn’t take a nap there, and staring at it was mildly rude, like staring at someone who was eating. But like eating and sleeping, sex was a body thing, not inherently tied to emotion.

            This relaxed attitude however did not extend to venereal disease. Disease made an act that was natural and healthful into something dirty. More than dirty, at least in the minds of my people. It made it vile. Real people did not catch venereal diseases, of course, only barbarians. It was one of the things that made them barbaric. Still, the mere notion of such an illness was horrifying.

            “So what happened?” Relem asked. “Did a barbarian attack you?”

            “What?” asked Haltet, plainly startled.

            “Or were you tending someone who was injured?” Relem tried again. When Haltet still looked blank, he finally asked, “How was your blood poisoned?”

            Haltet’s left hand twisted up into a gesture of _deep pain._

“It wasn’t,” he said softly. “Not like that.”

            Relem’s eyes went wide and he slowly pushed his chair back, away from Haltet. I stayed where I was, but couldn’t stop myself from gesturing _dismay._

            The front door of the house swung open, causing all of us to jump and look round. Tempi stood in the doorway and his face was an iron mask.

            “Hello Uncle Tempi,” I squeaked.

            “Hello Linan. Hello Relem. You should not have come here today.”

            I ducked my head, gesturing _apology_ and _contrition._ Tempi walked into the room, setting the bundle he carried on the central table. I could smell warm bread under the folded cloth. He crossed to the screen and folded it to one side. A cot and Tempi’s sofa had been set up close together, fitted with sheets and blankets. A clay chamber pot rested under the cot and my mothers wooden box of medicines sat on a lone armchair. On the cot, lay a man who could only be Shevam. He looked even thinner and grayer than his companion. His eyes were closed, but they danced wildly under paper-thin lids. Tempi gestured _worry_ and pressed the back of his other hand to Shevam’s forehead.

            “His fever is a little better,” he remarked.

            “Your friend’s drugs are making things easier on him,” Haltet agreed, pushing himself wearily to his feet and turning his back on Relem and me.

            “Vashet isn’t a friend exactly,” said Tempi, opening Mother’s medicine box and pulling out a small green bottle. He checked the level of the fluid within it before returning it and closing the box. “But she can be trusted.”

            Now he returned his gaze to me. “I wish I could say as much for her daughter.”

            “I can be trusted,” I said quickly. _Sincerity._ “So can Relem.”

            “Can you? How did find out about my guests?”

            “We didn’t, we were just coming see you and…”

            “Child of Vashet, is it trustworthy to lie? Is it of the Lethani?”

            I gestured _remorse._ “No, Uncle Tempi.”

He nodded stoically. “What is the truth of this matter?”

            There was no help for it. Tempi knew us too well. “We heard you telling Mother about them,” I admitted.

            Tempi’s expression did not change, but some of the tension left his shoulders. “Linan, was that conversation meant for you?”

            “No, Uncle Tempi.”

            “Is it of the Lethani to listen to things not meant for you?”

            “No, Uncle Tempi,” I repeated, thinking now of Haltet’s song. That one had been an accident, but still…

            “No,” he said firmly. “These men are going to be staying with me while they recover their strength. You must tell no one that they are here, or that they were ever here. Do not even speak of them where you may be overheard. Their disease is not dangerous to us, but it will frighten people if it is discovered. And frightened people do not always act in accordance with the Lethani. _Lin?_ ”

            “ _Linsatva_ ,” Relem and I chorused.

            “Good. Now head home before your mothers begin to worry.”

            “Uncle Tempi,” I asked as Relem began to scurry towards the door.

            “Yes Linan?”

            “Should we tell our mothers that we know?”

            Tempi hesitated. “Tell Vashet. Not Penthe. She doesn’t know about this yet.”

            “Why not?” asked Relem.

            “Because I was not sure how she would react. Vashet and I will explain to her, if the need arises.”

            Relem nodded, unconsciously gesturing _relief._ He at least would be spared a tongue-lashing when he got home. I would have no such luck. Still, I reflected as I watched Haltet settle stiffly onto the couch, his sore-ridden mouth twisted into a grimace of pain, there were far worse fates to be had.

           


	4. The Broken Tree

At home once more, I survived my scolding and decided not to push my luck by asking more about Haltet and Shevam’s condition. I was desperately curious of course, but that was more or less my ground state of being. I could endure a night or two of ignorance if it gave my mother some time to cool off.

            Kentha was not at our morning lessons the following day. Relem and I didn’t know what to make of it. Nentin and her other accomplices were in attendance and I occasionally saw them whispering together. We watched them warily, but nothing seemed to come of it.

            After Celean dismissed us, I turned to Relem. He was picking bits of moss from the front of his grey training tunic. His last bout of sparring had ended with him landing rather heavily on his chest.

            “Hey Rel?”    

            “Hey yourself.” _Distraction._

            “I think you had the right idea yesterday.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “About not going home by our usual ways. I don’t know why Kentha was missing today, but I don’t like it.”

            “Agreed,” said Relem, giving up on his tunic and grabbing his satchel instead. “So where do you want to go? Not Tempi’s again?”

            I shook my head. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” _Understatement._

            “Then where?”

            “The Broken Tree?” I suggested.

            Relem gestured _mild surprise_ but said, “Sounds good to me.”

           

The Broken Tree was the place Relem and I used to go when we were little, and in truth, the tree was not precisely broken. It was an oak tree that stood in a little clearing of its own in the narrow belt of woodland that followed the river on its journey north. Some long ago storm had snapped one of its great branches and in through that wound some rot or other had spread. It had eaten up many tons of wood, leaving the tree a hollow shell. But the tree continued to grow, because a tree is not like a person. The organs that keep us alive, that are most vital to us, are deep inside us, sheltered and protected. But a tree’s vitality lives in a thin layer just below the bark. Sugar and water and minerals from deep with the earth run through its living skin. But the inside of the tree is wooden and dead.

            When I was a child, I did not know this. I just pointed to the oak and said, “Look Relem. Look at that tree with the broken heart.” And so, for us, the tree was named.

 

We stole down to the river valley, shunning the paths that wound past the Latantha and back to my house on the hill. It was late in the year and the leaves of the trees were beginning to fade from green to gold. Wasps, made slow and stupid by the onset of autumn, buzzed about fallen crabapples. I could feel something welling up in me as we walked along in silence and amber sunlight.

            When we reached the clearing of the Broken Tree, Relem dropped his satchel on the ground and wriggled into the hole near the tree’s roots. It was a tighter fit than it once had been, but he managed. His flame red hair vanished from view like a fox down its burrow. I set down my own satchel and followed him.

            Inside the tree, the air was warm and earthy, with just a hint of sharp tannins, like the bottom on an ancient wine barrel. Relem leaned against one curving wall, his face turned upward to stare along the hollow height of the oak. Shafts of light stabbed in from other gaps in the wooden shell, turning the cobwebs and dust motes into glowing wisps of Fae magic.

            I sat down across from Relem and stretched out my legs so that my feet rested comfortably in his lap. He looked down and smiled unrestrainedly at me. I smiled back. There was no room for masks in the Broken Tree.

            “Relem,” I asked suddenly, “would you, I mean, would it be all right if…um…”

            He cocked his head at me. “Linan?”

            “Can I sing to you?”

            Relem went very still and his face went very pink. He took a few quick gulping breaths. Then he whispered, “Yes.”

            I wished he’d sounded more certain, as a part of me was already deeply regretting the question. That part was overruled. I opened my mouth, and my voice stuck in my suddenly very dry throat. I tried again, and this time it worked.

           

            _Dear is the red clover, to the bumbling bee,_

_And dear is salt water, to the fish of the sea,_

_And dear to all Haert is the dancing Sword Tree,_

_But dearer than all, my dear, are you dear to me._

            It was a bit of nonsense my mother used to sing me when I was fretful. At first my voice wobbled like a spring kid still unsure of its legs, but it grew stronger as I continued. The wooden walls seemed to hum with the song, like some vast instrument for which I had no name. Even after my words were gone, the gentle hum remained.

            Relem coughed awkwardly and then picked up the song, adding words to it I had never heard before.

           

            _Dear to the morning lark is the sky wide and blue,_

_And dear to the russet squirrel are cobnuts to chew,_

_And dear to each Cethan is a heart brave and true,_

_But dearer than all, my dear, is how I hold you._

 

            I laughed and clapped my hands together. “Oh, very good!”

            Relem laughed too, sounding almost relieved. His face was still very pink and I suspected mine was as well. There was a warm feeling in my belly now, not like something welling up, more like something had settled there, like a drink of spiced cider. It filled me with a soft, contented glow.

            “Let’s try it again,” I suggested. “But you do my verses and I’ll do yours.”

            We did, and it was as I was reaching the part about the “heart brave and true” that something rapped loudly on the outside of the tree.

            I broke off with a strangled cry and tried to leap to my feet. I tripped over Relem’s legs and fell almost on top of him, making him yelp even louder than I had.

            “Linan.”

            My heart stopped. The voice was my mother’s.

            “Linan, come here at once.”

            I shuddered. Not in eleven years had I heard my mother’s voice sound so cold. The cider glow in my belly had soured into vinegary dread. But waiting around would only make things that much worse. Reluctantly, I wormed my way out of the hole in the tree trunk and back into the clearing.

            My mother stood watching me. She might have been carved from ice. I took a nervous step towards her, my lips already bunching up to start giving some plausible explanation. Behind me, I could hear Relem clambering out of the tree, unwilling to let me face my fate alone. Poor fool.

            My mother reached out one hand and shoved me hard in the chest. The gesture was utterly casual, as if she were placing something back on a shelf. I staggered and fell, landing on my back in the leaf mold. I knew better than to try to stand back up.

            She knelt down beside me, seizing my left shoulder in a grip that felt more like a bite. She leaned in and her voice was a dreadful whisper.

            “Linan, what have you and Relem been doing together?”

            “Nothing!” I whimpered.

            “Linan.”

            “Singing! We were singing!”

            “Only singing?” she demanded.

            I’m sure I looked as bewildered as I felt. What more was there to share than song? “Yes, Momma. Only singing.”

            She released her grip on my shoulder to pinch the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut. She let out a long sigh. Then she stood, pulling me to my feet. She was still angry—I could feel it coming off her like fog rising from a glacier—but something else had gone out of her.

            _Fear_ , I thought. _She was afraid of finding something worse. But that makes no sense._

“Both of you, come with me,” she ordered, and we jumped to obey. “I need to see Penthe.”

            “Why? What’s going on?”

            My mother said nothing but strode resolutely away. Relem and I had to jog to keep up. As we climbed out of the river valley, the last rays of that golden afternoon disappeared behind the distant mountains and a deep dusk descended. We crested a low, stony ridge and we were practically back in Haert once more. I could see Tempi’s house on the edge of town, only a bowshot away.

            I frowned then. I could also see a small crowd advancing on Tempi’s house, visible only by the lights they carried in the gathering gloom. Red sympathy lamps, yellow oil lanterns, and even a few old fashioned torches bobbed up and down. Here and there, something metal would glint out clearly.

            “Mother,” I said, my voice tight, “Look there.”

            “I see,” she said grimly. “That can’t be good.”

            She took off down the ridge at a loping run and we fairly sprinted after her. We arrived on Tempi’s doorstep only moments before the crowd did. Tempi opened his door, blinking and gesturing _worry_ and _confusion._

            “Vashet?” he asked, staring past us at the swarm of advancing lights. “What’s happening?”

            “I don’t know,” my mother snapped. “Inside, you two.”

            She shoved us across the threshold, forcing Tempi to dodge out of the way, then turned back to the crowd. They came to a halt within easing hailing distance.

            “Tempi!” one of them shouted. The voice was Carceret, Kentha’s mother. I could see her clearly now, as I peered around the doorframe. She stood at the head of the group, which had almost a dozen people in it, wearing her mercenary reds and carrying a flaming torch. Her other hand rested meaningfully on the hilt of her sword. “Tempi, we need to talk.”

            Tempi stepped fully out onto his little stone stoop and into the pool of flickering light. He too wore his sword, given to him by the school long years ago, though in his case it looked like he’d hastily belted it on over his sleeping garments. As he passed from the house, he casually caught up the staff that still leaned by the door and passed it my mother. She, who had evidently not thought to bring deadly weapons with her when looking for her strayed offspring, took the length of sturdy wood without comment.

            “I am here,” said Tempi, his voice clear and carrying. _Stern disapproval._ “Talk.”

            “We know you are harboring men who have polluted themselves with barbarian filth.”

            “You are mistaken.”

            “Liar!” someone near the back of the group yelled. The sound sent a tingle of dread down my spine. Voices were never raised like that, not in Haert.

            “My daughter has seen the men you hide, Tempi,” said Carceret. “Do not tell me she lies.”

            The sickening feeling of dread intensified. Kentha had seen. She must have followed Relem and me to Tempi’s house yesterday. It was the only thing that made sense. She was probably listening at the rear window throughout our whole conversation with Haltet.

            Tempi gestured _complete indifference._ I do not think anyone noticed the tremor in his hand save me. “There are two sick men in this house, Carceret. What of it? Is it not of the Lethani to shelter the sick and the injured?”

            “Do not pretend this is some ordinary malady.” That was the voice of the apothecary, Carcerert’s friend. “If it were, you would have brought the men to me.”

            Mother brought the end of her staff down on the stoop with a loud _crack_. “Enough. What ails Tempi’s guests is none of your concern. They are under his protection and my own. Go back to your homes.”

            “None of our concern?” Carceret gestured _scornful incredulity_. “In their recklessness, these men have put all of Ademre in danger. They shame our very blood.”

            “Shut up, Carceret,” my mother advised. “There is no danger. Unless you plan to drag the two of them from their sickbeds to take part in an orgy.”

            Carceret’s face went as red as her uniform. “How dare you? You, of all people! Why you’re no better than they are.”

            “True,” my mother agreed, rolling a kink from her neck with a click and a pop. “I am no better than those poor men in there. But that’s not the question, is it Carceret? The question is whether I’m better than you.”

            Carceret gestured _scorn_ again. “You think I am afraid of you? You with a stick and that half-witted man who can’t even make the first stone?”

            Tempi scratched his nose, unconcerned. “I have not attempted the stone trials in years.”

            I winced inwardly. All Haert knew that Carceret attempted the trials every year, yet she remained a Cethan of the first stone only. Tempi hadn’t pointed this out of course. He didn’t need to.

            Carceret took an angry step forward. I didn’t see Tempi move, but a moment later the hand that had been scratching his nose held his drawn sword.

            “What I have done,” he continued in the same even tone, “is fight and kill and fight again in the bloodiest war since the fall of the Aturan Empire.”

            Carceret halted.

            “You are not welcome in my home,” said Tempi, loudly and clearly. “Anyone who violates the Lethani by trying to enter it anyway, will be cut down. _Lin_?”

            Angry murmuring ran through the assembled Adem, but none of them seemed eager to step forward anymore.

            “Go back to your homes,” my mother repeated.

            “This isn’t over,” said Carceret loudly, as behind her people began shuffling and glancing back over their shoulders. She gestured _firm promise_ and _rage_ , then spun on her heel and stalked away into Haert. Torches and lamps flowed after her.

            Tempi seemed to sag as soon as they were out of sight. He sheathed his sword and took my mother’s hand in his. He bent low over it, pressing her knuckles hard into his forehead.

            “Thank you,” he whispered. “It seems you came just in time.”

            My mother disengaged from Tempi, but without any actual coldness. “Inside.”

            Relem and I scurried back from the door as they entered, shutting it firmly behind them.

            “Linan, keep watch at the window,” my mother ordered, as Tempi crossed to the screened off portion of the room. “I don’t want to be taken by surprise.”

            “You think they’ll come back?” I asked, as I took up my post, Relem beside me.

            “Yes. Probably with half of Haert behind them. That was just Carcert’s circle of friends. But they’re far from the only ones who will be frightened and angered by this.”

            “What are we going to do?” asked Relem.

            “The only thing you can do,” croaked Haltet. I turned from the window to see Tempi helping the northerner to sit up and pressing a cup of water into his unresisting hand. With his other hand, he was stroking Shevam’s hair. The smaller man was awake this time, or at any rate his eyes were open, but they had a glassy look, as if they weren’t really seeing anything much. Sweat covered his greyish skin in a glistening sheen.

            “You have to turn us over to them,” said Haltet. He took a drink and set the cup down to gesture _resignation_ and _insistence._

            “Don’t be a fool,” my mother snapped. “Tempi, do you have a second sword anywhere?” The motion of her fingers made it clear that she expected the answer to be no.

            Tempi signed _apology_. “Only pig iron. Barbarian make.”

            “Better than nothing. Where is it?”

            Tempi pointed wordlessly to a wooden locker.

            “Will you listen?” Haltet’s accent came out stronger when he was angry. “Shevam and me, we are dying. Dying. How many times do I have to say this before you understand? It doesn’t matter if they burn us to death, or the fever does. We’ll still be dead.”

            Relem seized my wrist then, squeezing it very hard.

            Haltet sighed. “Look. You’ve done enough for us. More than anyone else would. Don’t ruin your lives over this.”

            My mother reached into the locker and drew out a heavy broadsword, much notched and scarred, with verdigris crawling over its brassy hilt. She gave it a few experimental swings, and gestured _suppressed distaste._ Then she turned back to Haltet.

            “I hear you,” she said. “And yes, I understand that you will, in all likelihood, die here. But that doesn’t change what the Lethani requires. It is of the Lethani for you to die in bed, beside the man you love, in as much comfort as we can give you. It is not of the Lethani for you to die screaming on a bonfire to satisfy the petty heart of a petty woman.”

            She ran her thumb over the edge of the sword’s blade, testing it, but her eyes did not leave Haltet’s face.

            “So, I am left with two choices. To face the anger of a village that never loved me to begin with, or to abandon the Lethani and with it all the teachings of the paths I have followed. I ask you, which of those will ruin my life?”

            Haltet made a small gesture of _reluctant respect._ “Fine words. But you are still a madwoman. What can the two of you do against a mob?”

            “Relem!”

            “Yes, Vashet?”

            “Take Linan and go to your mother’s house now. Go as quickly as you can. Tell her everything and ask her to come here with as many Cethan as will follow her. You two are to stay at her house until all this is finished. I don’t want you anywhere near this. _Lin_?”

            Relem nodded. He was still holding my wrist and now he took off towards the door like a mountain hare. I hurried after him, without even time to say goodbye.

 

I don’t remember much of our flight through the dark streets of Haert. I do remember Relem almost falling against his mother’s door, pounding on it with his fists because he lacked the breath to call her name.

            Penthe appeared in the doorway a moment later. “Relem? Linan? What’s wrong?”

            “It’s Tempi!” Relem gasped. “And Vashet! They need you, at Tempi’s house!”

            Penthe gestured _alarm_ and took hold of Relem by the shoulders, which were trembling. “Why? What has happened?”

            We explained as best we could. Penthe’s left hand flickered as she listened, expressing emotions too quickly for me to follow. At last she held up a hand and we fell silent. She wasn’t looking at us. As far as I could tell, she wasn’t looking at anything.

            “Vashet asked for me?” she said slowly.

            “Yes,” Relem and I chorused.

            Penthe nodded. “Very well.”

            By now we had small audience of Penthe’s friends and Relem’s family members, who had probably been gathering in anticipation of the evening meal. A few of them stepped forward.

            “Penthe?” asked a tall man with forked scar in his brow. I thought his name might be Malthyn, though I wasn’t sure. “Are you going?”

            “Yes,” said Penthe. The word came out more harshly than was entirely seemly. She strode into the parlor, which was more than twice the size of the one in my mother’s house, and plucked her curved sword from the pegs on the wall where it balanced.

            Malthyn, if that was his name, gestured _acceptance._ “Then I will come also.”

            “And I,” said a woman, stepping forward. Others followed her.

            “I do not ask this of any of you,” said Penthe, belting on her scabbard. “We are venturing into murky waters.”

            Malthyn shrugged. “Water or fire, Penthe, I’d follow you anywhere.”

            There was a general murmur of agreement.

            In the end, seven Cethan left with Penthe, though three had to be summoned from their own homes. I felt a little better as we watched them go—ten against a mob was better than two, especially if one of the ten was Penthe of the third stone—but only a little.

            “Do you think they’ll be able to put a stop to it?” I asked Relem. He knelt beside me on the low sofa, peering out through the leaded glass of his family’s front window.

            “I don’t know,” he replied. _Pessimistic dread._

            Behind us, I could hear the clatter of dishes on wood as Relem’s grandmother set the table for supper. I’d been invited to eat with the family that remained, but I wasn’t hungry. My belly felt like a clenched fist.

            Something Tempi had said came back to me then, as I knelt there fretting. _I told the two of you that Carceret would only listen to Shehyn._

            “What?” Relem asked.

            “Hmm?”

            “You suddenly went very still.”

            “Oh.” _Carceret would only listen to Shehyn._ I drummed my fingers against the windowsill. “Relem?”

            “Yes, Linan?”

            “You know how we weren’t supposed to leave your house until this was all over?”

            “Yes...” _Wary curiosity._

“What if we had to leave the house, or it would never be over?”


	5. The Color of Firelight

As the head of the school, Shehyn had living quarters in the largest of its buildings. We slipped in as quietly as we had slipped out from Relem’s house. The long halls were suspiciously empty, even for this time of night. It seemed many of the Cethan and older trainees had turned out to answer Carceret’s call, or at the very least to watch the chaos unfolding. Even so, Relem and I did not make it to the headmistress’ suite of rooms unchallenged.

            “You two. Stop.”

            We stopped. The voice was Celean’s and it came from behind us. We shared a look before we turned round. Celean was striding quickly towards us, her left hand telegraphing far more worry than finding two junior trainees wandering the school unsupervised should have occasioned.

            “Relem, Linan, what are you doing here?”

            I squared my shoulders and stood up straight. “Teacher, we need to talk with Shehyn.”

            Celean came to an abrupt halt and gave us a calculating look. “Why? What’s going on?”

            “Please, Celean. There isn’t much time.”

            “Time before what? Does this have something to do with why half a dozen of my students just left with their swords and vehemently refused to tell me where they were going?”

            I gestured _dismay._ “I hope not, but probably, yes.”

            “And you want to talk to Shehyn about it.”

            “Yes.”

            Celean sighed. “Why couldn’t this have happened on a night mother was around?”

            “Sorry.”

            She gestured _dismissal._ “Fine. Tell me what has been happening and I will tell Shehyn directly.”

            I hesitated. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Celean, far from it. But this was important, too important to come from a messenger, even a messenger as trustworthy and influential as Celean.

            “I would really rather tell Shehyn in person,” I said, and signed _absolute insistence._

            Celean made a gesture of _frustration._ “It is good to take responsibility,” she told me, “but this will go better if I am the one to talk with my grandmother.”

            “Why?” asked Relem. “Why wouldn’t she listen to us?”

            “That’s not what I said.”

            “It’s what you meant though, isn’t it? Shehyn isn’t pleased with us. Why? Because of our hair? Why does that make any sense?”

            “Relem…” said Celean, her hand signing _warning_.

            He ignored her and was opening his mouth, no doubt to ask another question, when I put a hand on his shoulder. “That doesn’t matter right now, Rel. What matters is that we get to talk to Shehyn, before two men are murdered. _Lin_?”

            With a reluctant gesture, he agreed. “ _Linsatva_.”

            Now Celean was watching us oddly. “Murdered? Who’s going to be murdered?”

            “Shehyn, Celean. I need to talk to Shehyn.”

            Celean threw up her hands. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

            She led us down the hall and unlocked the door at the end. Locks were rare in Haert, in those days. The click it made as it sprung open struck me as deeply ominous. We moved through rooms that were densely furnished, not in the style of someone who had money to spend on things she did not need, but of someone who'd had a lifetime to accumulate things she could not bear to part with.

            Celean paused in an open doorway, motioning for us to stay back. From the faint papery smell coming from the room, I guessed it to be some kind of study.

            “Grandmother?” Celean called softly. No response.

            “Grandmother?” This time Celean spoke more loudly. There was a creak of chair springs and a rustle of disturbed papers.

            “What is it?” asked Shehyn’s voice. She sounded a little groggy. I suspected Celean had just woken her grandmother from a light doze.

            “Vashet’s daughter needs to speak with you. Penthe’s son is with her.”

            There was a pause before Shehyn replied. “Tell them I do not have the answers they seek.”

            “I don’t think that’s what they’re here for grandmother. Something is happening in the village. I think people may be in danger.”

            Shehyn sighed audibly. “Very well. Bring them here.”

            Celean waved us forward and we entered the room. It wasn’t precisely a study after all, more like a small library. Bookshelves lined every wall of the hexagonal space from floor to ceiling, with a small gap for a writing desk. Before the desk stood a deep armchair, old and well padded, and in the chair sat Shehyn.

            She was an old woman, old enough in fact that she had probably been an old woman well before I was born. She was quite short, not stooped, but stocky. Her white hair was clipped close to her skull and her grey eyes stared out from a mask of wrinkles. There was great intelligence in those eyes but little warmth that I could find.

            “Good evening, Linan. Good evening, Relem.”

            “Good evening, teacher.” I made the gesture for _deep respect_ and Relem copied me.

            “So, what is it that you convinced Celean I needed to hear about?”

            Celean made a small noise behind us, as if intending to say something before thinking better of it.

            I shut my eyes for a beat, ordering my thoughts. “Three days ago, our friend Tempi met two men on the road to Haert…”

            I told Shehyn everything. I actually told her far more than I’d planned. It was the way she listened, I think. She didn’t take in my words, like a pitcher accepting water. She drew my story out of me like a whirlpool claiming a sinking ship.

            When I was done, she leaned back in her chair, steepled her fingers, and let out a long breath.

            “What does the Lethani demand?” she asked quietly. Somehow, I didn’t think she was talking to me. I answered anyway.

            “Correct action, teacher.”

            Shehyn shook her head gently. “No. There are times when it is of the Lethani to act, and there are times when it is of the Lethani to take no action.”           

            “Do you truly think this is one of the latter times, teacher?” I did not gesture _astonishment_ or _disbelief_ , but I sorely wished to.

            “I must consider it possible,” said Shehyn. “To consider deeply is always of the Lethani. Suppose that I do not act. What may befall?”

            “Death,” I said flatly.

            “From what you say, these men are not afraid to die.”

            “Not just them,” I pressed on. “Others may be killed if fighting breaks out. Carceret. My mother. Penthe. And the bullies who survive will feel emboldened when—in all likelihood—they win. If more sick people show up, they won’t hesitate to burn them too.”

            “True enough,” Shehyn conceded. “Now we know what we have to fear from inaction. But if we do act? What if I order Carceret to stand down? What is the worst that might befall?”

            I tried to think about that. “She disobeys you. She and her followers try to take the men anyway. Fighting breaks out. Many people on both sides are killed and injured, and the sick men are burned alive.”

            “And?”

            “And all in Haert know that the leader of the school cannot control her own Cethan. Your authority is undermined and the bullies feel free to do as they please, to whomever they please, not just the sick or the shunned. Because they know now for certain that they cannot be stopped.”

            Shehyn signed _regretful approval._ “You have a quick mind, daughter of Vashet. You see now why this is a weighty choice.”

            I nodded. I didn’t like it, but I understood it. Shehyn might not like the idea of mob violence being allowed to run its course, but in the long run, the risks of intervening might well be greater.

            “Teacher?” said Relem suddenly. He had been curiously silent during my long explanation. Now we all turned to look at him.

            “Yes Relem?” Shehyn inquired.

            “When does the Lethani happen?”

            “The Lethani lives in every moment.”

            “Does it live in future moments more than in the now?”

            “No. It does not.”

            “Then surely, teacher, it cannot be the consequences of a thing that make it of the Lethani.”

           There was a long moment of silence. Then Shehyn slowly nodded. “Yes. Clever. Your mind moves as quickly as your friend’s, even when it is running in another direction. There are some paths that teach the Lethani so, that we must act rightly only in the now, even when it seems to lead to harm. And then, when it comes time for us to face the harm we foresaw, we again must act rightly. And again. And again.”

            “Is the Sword Tree such a path?” asked Relem. His voice was nearly a whisper.

            Shehyn stared at the two of us, at our red hair and our grey green eyes. Her hand slowly curled itself into the sign for _a heart at peace._

“Perhaps…perhaps it should be,” she said quietly. “For tonight at the least. Yes. For tonight, let it be so.”

 

 

Shehyn leaned lightly on Celean’s arm as we walked through Haert. Relem and I walked on either side of the pair, carrying blue sympathy lamps from Shehyn’s personal collection. They were more costly than the ordinary red kind, but the cold radiance they gave was undeniably striking.

            There were more than a hundred people now gathered around Tempi’s house in a loose semicircle. I doubted all of them were there with mayhem in mind, but it didn’t matter. It was still too many. The number of torches seemed to have increased as well. The faces of my neighbors became strangely distorted, almost demonic, in that flickering light.

            “Give them to us!” That voice was Carceret’s voice, loud and obscene. “Let us cut out the canker on the face of Ademre!”

            “For the last time, Carceret,” My mother’s voice was not as loud, but it still carried. “Cease your yapping and go home.”

            Shehyn walked up to the back row of the crowd and tapped a burly man upon the shoulder.

            “Please excuse us.” The man turned and his eyes widened involuntarily when he saw who had spoken. He gestured _shock_ and _guilty embarrassment_ before he regained control of his left hand. Then he quickly stepped aside, slapping urgently at the backs and shoulders of his neighbors to make them give way as well.

            An aisle opened in the wall of onlookers and with it came a deep and deadly hush. Still holding Celean’s arm, Shehyn strode down the open way and we followed in her wake. She halted in the narrow band of clear space between the mob and the defenders.

            “What,” asked Shehyn, her words dropping into the sudden silence like stones into a clear pool, “is the meaning of this?”

            No one answered, but a few people at the edges of the crowd peeled off like leaves in the wind and hurried away. More followed them, who were in turn followed, until a bare score of people remained in the broken semicircle, lamps and torches guttering in the chill night air.

            All the while, Shehyn stood as still as a mountain.

            “I’m waiting,” she said at last. _Stern censure._

            Carceret ducked her head. “Teacher, there are two men in this house—strangers in Haert—who endanger us all.”

            “How do they endanger us?”

            “They have been made ill through sex with barbarians.”

            “Well, through sex with a Cethan who had been having sex with barbarians,” my mother interjected. “Not that it matters much. These men aren’t dangerous, teacher.”

            “Their mere existence is a danger!” Carceret protested. “Their condition is a perversity, an affront to our way of life!”

            “Peace, Carceret,” said Shehyn, holding up a calming hand. “These men are not their condition.”

            “They are responsible for it! We must hold them responsible for it.”

            “They are victims, teacher,” said Tempi, stepping forward to stand beside my mother. _Quiet desperation._ Behind them, Penthe and her friends stood unmoved, watching Shehyn closely.

            “Victims?” Shehyn mused. “Yes, I suppose so. But they are also a symptom.”

            “A symptom?” Carceret and Tempi gestured _confusion_ at almost the same moment. My mother did not.

            “A symptom,” Shehyn confirmed. “The walls of Ademre are failing. We have held ourselves apart for so long, but we cannot hold much longer.”

            She turned back to Carceret. “I understand your fear, and your anger too, for they are in me also. I take no joy in the future I foresee. But this is not the way to save ourselves.”

            “Then what is?” Carceret sounded almost as desperate as Tempi. “What is the way, teacher?”

            “There has only ever been one way, the way that Rethe taught to Aethe.”

            Shehyn pulled free of Celean’s arm and crossed over to where Carceret stood. Gently, every motion slow and deliberate, she reached up and placed her knotted hands on either side of Carceret’s face. She held her there, their eyes touching, and she said,

            “The way of the Lethani.”

            And Carceret wept.

 

Shevam died a little more than a day later, in the grey hour before the dawn. Haltet, who had been the stronger of the two, faded quickly after that. By sunset, he too was gone. Shehyn forbade any from burning their bodies, though there were some still who dearly would have wished to, just as she had forbidden harm to them while they lived. They were Tempi’s dead, and so the decision of what to do with them fell to him, as was proper.

            In the end, their bodies were carried into the cave in the hills where Tempi’s ancestors lay. They were bound in black, even as the Cethan are bound in red and the teachers of Cethan in white, and bowls of salt and earth were left beside them. As we walked down out of those hills, I caught Relem glancing away east, to his family’s own cave. I did not look back. My family has no cave in the hills of Haert.

            Tempi did not leave with the rest of us, not right away. He stayed sitting by the mouth of the cave. After a while, when he was out of sight, I heard the haunting sound of a stringed instrument echoing down from the stones.

 

Sometime later, I sat with my mother on a low bench outside our house, watching the goats forage among the thorn trees and waving grass. A warm silence stretched between us, made deeper and more complicated by the hundred natural noises of a sunny hillside. At length, and without prompting, my mother said,

            “The boy Nentin will no longer be training with you at the school.”

            I thought for a moment. Relem might be the only one Nentin had ever bitten, but he had always been an adder, and there were many children in Haert with the scars and stories that would prove it. “Good. He would make a bad Cethan.”

            My mother nodded. “Kentha will remain however.”

            I made an _unsurprised_ gesture. “I don’t mind.”

            “No?”

            “No. I don’t like her. But she’ll probably make a good Cethan, eventually. If someone takes a firm hand with her.”

            My mother allowed herself a small smile. “I suspect someone will. Shehyn has formally asked Penthe for her assistance in running the school.”

            “Is she going to make Penthe the head of the school?”

            “Not yet, no. Perhaps when Celean leaves on her quest for new Ketans again. Why?”

            I signed _inconsequential._ “Relem said he thought that used to be Shehyn’s plan.”

            “Relem was right,” my mother confirmed.

            “Why did she change her mind? Originally, I mean.”

            “What makes you think I know the mind of Shehyn?”

            “Because Relem thought the change had something to do with him. Which means it probably had something to do with me too.”

            “And why would that be?”

            “Because there’s something different about us. Not the stupid hair thing, or not just that. There’s something about us that frightens people. Like you were frightened, when you found us singing in the woods.”

            My mother said nothing for a long while. Then she said, “It was foolish of me to be frightened.”

            “But why were you frightened, Momma? Aren’t you ever going to tell me?”

            Again, the silence stretched, deep and complicated, and I thought for a moment that she would not answer me. I was wrong.

            “I was frightened,” she said, “because Relem is your brother.”

            I felt as though I was falling. It wasn’t a sudden kind of sensation, not a lurch or a thud. I felt as though I were in free fall, with the sky rushing past me on every side. I gripped the bench as hard as I could, and tried to make sense of my mother’s words.

            “Then who…” My voice failed. “Then who is my mother? Is it Penthe? Or are you Relem’s mother? Or did you both take us in from someone else entirely?”

            My mother shook her head. She was smiling again, in a wistful kind of way. “It wasn’t like that, little one. You are my daughter, and Relem is Penthe’s son. The two of you have different _mothers,_ but you have the same _father._ ”

            I frowned at that. She had used the Aturan word for _mothers_ , not the Ademic. I spoke Aturan well—my mother had seen to that—but even so, I did not recognize the second word.

            “ _Father_? What is a _father_?”

            “A man,” said my mother, “who gives his anger to a woman that she might make a child, and in so doing puts something of himself into that child. ”

            My frown deepened. Anger, _Vaevin_ in our language, could indeed be taken from men during sex. This much was well known. This extra anger gave women the drive to do things that men could not: sow seeds, measure the year, lead schools and villages, and, yes, bear children. But anger, once taken, belonged to the woman and to her alone. No man had any claim over the things she built with it. To claim otherwise was a barbarian blasphemy, the kind of dangerous ignorance that led barbarians to treat women little better than slaves. How could my mother, of all people, believe in this nonsense?

            “Even I know that man-mothers are a myth,” I said sourly. “Why won’t you tell me the truth?”

            My mother cuffed me lightly on the side of the head, barely enough to ruffle my flame red hair.

            “What’s the point of me telling you the truth if you won’t listen to it?”

            “What?”

            “You want to know why you don’t look like other Adem? Why everyone treats you and Relem like dangerous animals? Well, I’m telling you.”

            I closed my mouth and listened to a story about a barbarian man who was cleverer than most and who won the friendship of my Uncle Tempi. I heard how Tempi had, against his better judgment, begun to teach this man about the Ketan and the Lethani, until Carceret had discovered them. Tempi had no choice but to bring the man back to Haert and let Shehyn decide his fate. Shehyn decided to test the man, to see if he was worthy of the knowledge he sought, and she gave the task of testing him to my mother.

            “He was like no one I have ever met,” my mother said softly, and her eyes were distant.

            “Did you love him?” I asked.

            That startled a laugh from her. “Love him? No, of course not. He was a gaudy creature, that one, like a knife sharpened so fine it cannot help but break. No, I did not love him. But I slept with him, and so did Penthe. He passed his tests and left Ademre, looking for more secrets to crack open like cobnuts, I have no doubt. And then, nine moons later, you and Relem were born.”

            “And?”

            “And I took one look at you, all pink and wrinkly with a little puff of hair the color of firelight on copper, and I thought, ‘Damn it all, the smug bastard was right.’ He’d tried to tell us you see, about man-mothers, but Penthe and I only laughed.”

            When I still looked bewildered, she leaned over and tugged gently on my bangs. “It was the hair, you see. Your father had the reddest hair I’ve ever seen, and there’s no color like that in Ademre. Until now at least.”

            “Our hair?” I whispered. It seemed like such a trivial thing, to overturn a hundred generations of wisdom.

            “Not just the hair,” my mother said, smiling at my dismay. “He’s in all of you, I’m afraid. He’s the green in your eyes and the cleverness in your hands and your ear for poems and your hunger for answers.”

            “But then…” My mind was reeling. “But then, who am I?”

            My mother’s face grew serious again. She pulled me onto her lap, something she had not done in years, and rested her chin on the top of my head.

            “You are Linan. You are the daughter of Maedre and Vashet, who is of the second stone. You are a child of Haert and of Ademre and of the lands beyond. You are like no one else in this world, and that is a glorious thing to be.”

 

When I was a girl, I was not what I am now. I suppose this should not be so surprising. Rivers shift their courses, trees grow and fall, and even the stones slowly bend themselves to follow the shape of the ever-blowing wind. But I am still myself, and so—I think—is Ademre.


End file.
